Lisa Ling on why Asian food in Los Angeles matters.
A black cod goes from the Pacific to Shibumi.
Keeping cool when the kitchen gets hot.
One restaurant’s many pandemic pivots.
Two different takes on Indian food.
Every day’s a hustle at Woon.
From Asian farms to Los Angeles restaurants.
Why in L.A. they’re not boring.
Three restaurants breaking boundaries.
Mastering values at Yang’s Kitchen.
Two chefs go behind the blade.
Omakase and ramen join the neighborhood.
The coronation of soju and makgeolli.
Three women open the bar they want to walk into.
Indonesian community through cuisine.
On working with Mom and Dad at Anajak Thai.
Los Angeles before sushi.
Inside the staff ritual of eating together.
Three Vietnamese restaurants expand the city’s palate.
One chef has some thoughts.
Waking up Los Angeles to Burmese cuisine.
The couple behind Shiku goes with the flow.
An ode to those who keep them going.
Michelle Bernstein embraces the competition.
One restaurant’s epic journey from debt to success.
The couple behind Boia De and Walrus Rodeo play by their own rules.
Vermouth gets a bar of its own.
On the business of BBQ in Miami.
Recipes for navigating an uncertain economy.
The secret to never getting old in a town obsessed with what’s new.
How two pioneers of omakase introduced Miami to a new way of dining out.
Chasing a childhood memory one arepa at a time.
Why Miami’s mainstays of Middle Eastern food aren’t phased by the influx of glossy newcomers.
David Foulquier on his shapeshifting ambitions.
The Black chefs behind a vegan movement in Miami.
Two Cuban sandwich masters talk shop.
A new generation’s take on the classic Jewish deli.
Miami’s mavericks of sustainable growing and dining.
An intimate glimpse inside restaurants after the last customer leaves.
Creating a culture where employees stick around.
A new kind of bottle service takes root in Miami.
The art of staying put in a changing city.
The city’s ventanitas created a culture all their own.
Philadelphia Magazine’s food critic on the irrepressible attitude that is the key ingredient of the city’s restaurants.
How one restaurant gave birth to many.
The cheesesteak may be the global mascot of Philly. But a contingent of pioneering chefs and restaurateurs have made the city a hub of vegetarian innovation.
The city’s Eritrean-Ethiopian restaurants serve up more—way more—than delicious food.
How Juan Carlos Aparicio baked his way to running a restaurant (that isn’t a bakery).
How Alex Tewfik went from being a food editor in Philly to owning one of the best restaurants in town.
Two restaurants that share a belief in how cooking can be force for change.
How Chutatip Suntaranon channeled her upbringing in Thailand—and life spent flying around the world—into one of Philly’s most singular restaurants.
Stopping by the warehouses in Kensington where artisan upstarts are breathing new life into the city’s food scene.
The Ongoing Evolution of Philly’s Classic Sandwiches.
Chloé Grigri, Amanda Shulman, and Ellen Yin on upending the rules of the game.
Mike Solomonov takes stock of his journey.
When a customer becomes a friend.
Ange Branca was forced to close her beloved restaurant in 2020. That was just the beginning.
How do you build a restaurant in a space that was never meant for a restaurant? In Philly, a city of Revolutionary Warera buildings and colonial row houses and ancient warehouses, it can be a bit like playing Tetris with Benjamin Franklin.
Three Philly couples get frank and intimate in sharing their recipes for romance.
Inside the world of homespun pop-ups and unexpected collaborations that have made Philly’s dining scene like nowhere else.
The classics are easy enough to master by anyone with fine liquor and a recipe.
The city has long been a vibrant hub of Vietnamese food. Today, a new generation is striking a balance all their own—between creativity and tradition, innovation and memory.
An ode to the unsung heroes of restaurant kitchens from a comedy writer who couldn’t take the heat.
A cell phone has been invented that allows you to send one text message to your younger self. What do you write?
Something is going to go wrong. Maybe many things. Maybe everything. To work in a restaurant’s kitchen is to be reminded of this nightly, and to feel your nerves dangling on the precipice where frayed can quickly give way to sheer madness.
Every dinner service is a juggle and a dance at Majordomo, David Chang’s restaurant in Chinatown, where, as executive chef, I run the kitchen. Part of that is making sure our recipes—the egg with smoked salmon roe, the mushroom crispy rice with yuzu, the smoked short ribs with banchan sides—reach diners with the intended magic. But maybe an even bigger part, sometimes more challenging than cooking, is having a personal recipe to stay sane as the chaos mounts.
Find something that brings you calm and focus so you don’t walk into the restaurant on edge. Is it yoga? Wind-sprints? Binging on nature documentaries? Doesn’t matter so long as you show up centered. A year and a half ago I started meditating in the mornings, right when I wake up, to create a clean slate that I can go back to when things inevitably get dirty.
1. Using a keen eye, scan the kitchen for where things might go astray. Try every sauce, sample a dish or two, talk to your cooks. Everything and everyone in order? Or does someone’s station look like a yard sale? Get all that chopped and seasoned before the doors open.
2. Start the night off at medium-high: a pace that’s not too fast, not too slow, something that can be continually stirred without boiling over. This is your stock for the evening. Sprinkle in a dash of luck to prevent people from camping out at tables for too long.
3. Now you’re in the thick of it. Tickets are stacking up, everything is a blur, and the inevitable curveballs start coming. Does someone have to leave early? Is the freezer actually just seeing it more clearly because he is present.
4. Meanwhile, as noodles boil and deep fryers sputter, drizzle in a reminder that there are more important things than what you’re doing right this second. For me, that’s my wife, my son and daughter. Let that simmer for three to five seconds. Okay, now check on those noodles.
5. Be careful not to curdle at the end of the night. People can get sloppy here. In their minds, they’re already cleaning up, breaking down, going home. Prevent this by combining some pats on the back with some kind words, whisking to emulsify into a strong finish.
6. As the last diners leave and things cool, carefully slice out the fact that tomorrow it all starts over again by pouring yourself a glass of wine. Take a sip. Take a few.
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